Poem: The reds I have known

I have known some reds

that flashed in the sun,

incarnadine;

Often, miniature roses,

with little arteries tracing their underbellies

in a sensitive web of lace;

Less often, some bird

that picks fastidiously

at plump berries in the thorn trees,

stained by the oozing of their juice

into a semblance of themselves;

Sometimes, reddlemen, having dyed their cloth,

going home, in a cheerful ruddiness

that belied their monotonous trade;

Again, a kite,

red as the heart's blood,

dancing across the parapets

framed by blue upon blue;

But

least often

and most coveted,

a sudden blaze of wanton, dissolving

into laughter.

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from Burnt Offerings 1996

Omer Tarin